


sunlight, sun bright

by mellowheart



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowheart/pseuds/mellowheart
Summary: I may have gotten in my feelings after watching the TDC gag reel...just a bit.





	sunlight, sun bright

            _**On some days**_ , the Glade was preferable in comparison to the Safe Haven. Although Thomas had only been in the world of green grasses and confused boys for a week, there was still an ache for the memories he made there. Part of him was glad to be free of W.I.C.K.E.D.'s grasp; relieved to not be a pawn of someone's sick game, and embrace the friends he had left. However, the other side of his heart yearned for uncertainty and cluelessness, for the calloused texture of his love's hands to be wrapped around his own, which were plush and inexperienced. His love went by the name of "Newt," and was a song composed by cherubs during a time where deep-set fear of the unknown made everything around him effuse the most despondent dirges.

            From the outset, Newt's aura wrapped around his limbs like the sweetest paralysis, seeping into his bones and easing tension he wasn't aware of until they swept out of his body; since then, the blood that oozed from careless scrapes and swam under the surface of accidental bruises was gold. He was free around the other boy, unafraid to ask questions, for the reaction he got reflected the luminescence of dreams; Newt's disbelief at the extent of Thomas' curiosity was countered by the fondness and kindness that formed in the brown irises of his eyes. The creases that formed in the corners of his eyes whenever a rare smile stretched across his face made him want to inquire about the Glade and the Maze all the time, for the radiance that effused from Newt's teeth (which were slightly imperfect due to the charming crookedness of one of his canines) rivaled both the cool glow of the moon and the sparkling yellow of the sun's rays.

            Thomas was reminded that Newt was only human when the second in command showed signs of irritation, which lined the grooves of his eyebrows when he frowned and spun in circles when he rolled his eyes to the sky, as if the dome that rose high over the Glade was at fault for his annoyance. It was an emotion that he felt himself wanting to evoke more often, especially if it meant seeing the attractive tilt of his slender hips whenever he rested his hands on them. He'd discovered what lust was when Newt rose his voice at Gally, the grace of his accent thickening into a tone that spiked apprehension in his heart and heat in his loins. It was an interesting experience, to witness a boy of sunshine throw words encrusted with ice.

            The Haven didn't feel quite as safe without the presence of Newt, despite the ghost that lingered next to him during get-togethers. He still couldn't resist flexing his fingers in the empty space in his bed, desperately trying to grasp at a wrist that wasn't there. It was a heaven absent of angels, full of people who cared about him yet void of the love of his life; the death of his love was too cruel to be considered heartbreak - it was heart-squeeze, or perhaps a heart-strangle that left the organ empty of blood. There was a lifeless rag in his ribcage, adorned only by drained vessels.

            Every inhalation of oxygen came as a surprise to him, because how could he breathe in a world where the sun had disappeared from the sky? If he thought the world was dim after Chuck, Winston, and Alby had ascended to the afterlife, the sorrow he felt now left him swirling in the Deep Sea.

            The disease of flame was the one to blame, and the death that resulted transformed Thomas into a more human version of himself; his blood ran down scarlet pathways, and the grief he'd held suspended in the dry air of the Scorch hardened around his heart like clay. The epidermis of his skin was seconds from cracking. His tear ducts were minuscule ghost towns, the winds of his grief sweeping through them in the same pattern as they did the day before. But when he opened Newt's letter and let his gaze travel over the sacred words once again, struggling to the lock the memory of the boy's voice in his head, a dandelion of hope slipped through the cracks.

            And then he breathed, closing his eyes and focusing on the lofty laughs of his closest friends and the cracking of the campfire.


End file.
